


The Beginning

by msred



Series: Lessons [1]
Category: American (US) Actor RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Celebrity Crush, F/M, First Meetings, Flirting, Meddling, Meet-Cute, School Trip, Siblings, chaperone, teacher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:56:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27641738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msred/pseuds/msred
Summary: She's 33 and single, and mostly okay with that. She's strong, independent, and capable and has a job and friends that she loves.He's 37 and coming off of literally the biggest movie ever made and almost 10 years playing the same picture perfect, too-good-to-be-true superhero.Enter school trips and meddling teenagers and little sisters.
Relationships: Chris Evans (Actor) & Original Female Character(s), Chris Evans (Actor)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Lessons [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2019040
Comments: 47
Kudos: 63





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Not Okay](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27416032) by [msred](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msred/pseuds/msred). 



> I don't plan to actually give the female protagonist a name (see series notes for reasons), so any time you see a randomly capitalized She/Her, that's to let you know it's her and not maybe another female character in the scene.
> 
> This character is not Narrator from "Starting Over," though there are similarities - mainly career and devotion to said career. There are also differences that will become more and more clear as the series continues.

**_November 2018_ **

She’s at her desk, trying to come up with anything to do other than go through this testing data in front of her, when there’s a knock on her classroom door and five of her theatre seniors walk in looking like a pack of guardian angels.

“Hey guys!” she says a little too enthusiastically. 

“Howdy,” Abby, the de facto leader of the group, says. “Are you busy?”

“Not at all,” she answers, closing the data binder and rolling her desk chair the couple feet to put it back on the bookshelf. Looks like data analysis will just have to wait until tomorrow’s planning period. What a shame. “What’s up?”

Wayne, the only boy in the group, shrugs. “We needed to get out of show choir. She’s on one of her rampages.”

“Annnnnd,” Jade chimes in, stepping around him and sending an elbow into his ribcage as she does, “we wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Spring trip,” Abby adds.

“Uhhhh,” she drawls, pointedly looking down at the calendar covering half her desk, “it’s November.”

“Yes ma’am,” Braylen speaks up quietly from Abby’s right-hand side, where she is almost guaranteed to be found at any given moment, “but we know things like this take a lot of time to plan. And we know you ultimately get final say on everything, but since there are only five of us this year, and since we already spend so much time together, we got to talking and we came up with some ideas that we all really like, and we thought we’d share them with you now rather than after you’ve started setting things in stone. We don’t want to be demanding or anything, but you’re always asking for our input, and we know you value our opinions, so we figured you’d at least consider what we have to say.”

The thing is, coming from any other high school student, she’d be sure she was being played. That was a suck-up statement if she’s ever heard one. Except that it wasn’t, and she knows that. Braylen is just that kind of a kid - honest, polite, respectful. It’s why she ends up being the spokesperson when Abby’s brashness just won’t do. And besides, she makes good points. The International Thespian Society spring trip is an annual thing and one of her responsibilities since she inherited the merit-based club when she started at the school over three years earlier. The previous three trips, which always included all the seniors in the club, had involved a lot more kids, and therefore a lot more moving parts. But this year’s seniors, the five standing in front of her, were the first cohort she’d actually inducted into the club as its sponsor. They were also the first cohort to actually be held to the honor society’s actual standards, which was why the group was so much smaller than usual. Her principal had seemed a little unnerved, at first, when the numbers dropped, but then she’d sat down with her with the national requirements for the club and the points tracking spreadsheet she’d created and proved that the previous sponsor was simply accepting any student who would pay the induction fee and her boss had backed off. She’ll get the numbers back up eventually, she promised, but she’ll do it legitimately.

For the time being, though, she has a very small club, and a very small group of seniors to take on a trip over what is commonly referred to as “Senior Week,” when all the underclassmen are taking state-mandated standardized tests and many club sponsors and electives teachers plan celebratory trips for their seniors - it’s both a reward for four years of hard work and dedication and a way to occupy the seniors so that the school is quieter for the underclassmen while they take their tests. So it actually did make sense, as Braylen had pointed out, to give them a bit more input than the students normally got, since accepting suggestions from a group of five best friends didn’t promise to create nearly the chaotic situation that would have resulted from giving last year’s 23 seventeen- and eighteen-year-olds a say in how they spent the week.

She nods, sitting back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest. “Okay, let’s hear what you’ve got.”

“We’ve picked a location,” Jade blurts, grinning from ear-to-ear.

“ _If,”_ Lana, the last of the five to speak up, cuts in with a hand on Jade’s forearm, “it’s okay with you. We know the location has to be determined before anything else, and we didn’t know if you’d started thinking of any yet, but we all agree on one place we’d really like to go if possible.” If Abby and Braylen are President and First Best Friend of this little crew, so to speak, Jade and Lana are Vice President and Second Best Friend, with Wayne pulling up as overall chief of staff, someone who only speaks publicly when he really needs to, but who carries more influence than anyone realizes and who knows all the inside secrets.

“Okaaay,” she drawls, a little worried about what they’re going to say. New York and L.A. are, of course, the most obvious choices for a theatre honor society senior trip, but they are also the most expensive and she knows for a fact that the money is going to be an issue for at least one of her kids. There are other choices that aren’t necessarily performing arts havens, so to speak, but are definitely fun and that she could see them making a case for if they try hard enough, like Orlando or New Orleans. Those scare her for another reason, which is the fact that there is a lot of potential for trouble in both of those places. And she knows that her five kids are amazing kids, but they’re still kids, high school seniors at that, so she doesn’t think it’s a good idea to tempt fate any more than necessary. Those concerns aside, though, she has no problem hearing them out. She had actually already started to stress over having to pick a destination, so if they can present her with something that isn’t too outlandish, they’ll be doing her a favor.

“We were thinking,” Lana starts then stops again, looking at each of her friends in turn.

“Oh hell,” Wayne interrupts, “we want to go to Boston.”

Her brow furrows and she looks at each student in turn, trying to gauge whether this is really what all of them want or whether one of them, likely Wayne, based on that little outburst, has managed to strongarm the others into just going along. The looks on their faces, the hopeful little smiles and nervously bitten bottom lips, say that they all seem to be on the same page. 

She doesn’t hate the idea, not cheap but definitely not as expensive as New York or L.A., and not as over-the-top as New Orleans or Florida, but she’s not sure where it’s coming from. “Why Boston?” she asks, trying to sound as neutral as possible. 

“Well,” Braylen steps forward to sit in the student desk She keeps at the corner of her own desk for writing conferences, “downtown has a very active theater district, so we’d be able to see probably more than one high-quality show while we’re there. And there are a lot of colleges and universities nearby that we could visit. We will all probably have made our college decisions by then, but it would still be a really interesting experience to go visit performing arts programs at some of those schools, like Boston University, for example. I mean, Jade and Wayne both are already talking about pursuing more advanced programs in theatre after they finish their Bachelor’s degrees, so it will be valuable to see what that can look like in a part of the country that is more rich with theatre and music and culture than this area is.”

Her eyes are drawn away from Braylen when out of the corner of her eye she sees Abby slide up to her desk and pick up her “SUPER MOM” coffee mug, a gift Lana had picked up for her over the summer on her family trip to Universal Studios (the “O” in “MOM” is actually Captain America’s shield) and that the five of them had all signed, looping one finger through the handle and starting to spin it, like she was a character in an old-timey western and the mug was her revolver. She gives Abby a look then reaches to snatch the mug out of her possession. She would actually cry if it got broken. Abby just rolls her eyes and sticks out her tongue and She turns her attention back to Braylen.

“And there are a lot of youth theatre programs in Boston and the surrounding areas as well, so we thought it could actually be a lot of fun to visit one or two of those.”

“Yeah,” Abby scoffs, “to see what we’ll never have.” Lana and Jade both shoot her dirty looks, Braylen just sighs. Wayne’s the one who smacks her on the back of the head, and normally that would launch Her into a whole thing about a man hitting a woman, but the girls accepted Wayne into the fold a long time ago and he’s pretty much exempt from all the rules that generally apply to guys, as far as they’re concerned. Besides, she’s watched Abby get almost violent at times - ripping things out of people’s hands, stomping on feet, throwing things - and while she never _means_ to be actually harmful, sometimes it’s a lot, so it’s hard for her to be too upset on Abby’s behalf over what really amounts to a light tap.

“What she means,” Braylen goes on evenly, “is that we all love and appreciate you so much,” they all nod and Abby rolls her eyes and mutters _Obviously_ , “and we know you do so much more for us than you really have to, but we just aren’t provided with the same resources and support from the school or the community that a lot of other programs are, and it would be neat to see what programs like that are capable of.”

She nods and she’s about to tell them that Boston actually sounds like a really interesting and potentially doable idea. And also that she’s proud of them for coming to her with such a well-planned idea and not something silly, when -

“And,” Braylen goes on, and oh, there’s more, “there’s so much _history_ in Boston, and I know that isn’t exactly the point of our trip, but it’s a nice added bonus, right? The cross-curricular educational value?” She’s about to ask where on earth Braylen learned that word when she remembers that her mom is a middle school teacher in the next town over, which also makes the whole little presentation make more sense, actually.

She holds up her hands in surrender, “You can stop now,” she says, and Braylen looks incredibly nervous while Abby just looks smug, the other three somewhere in between. “No promises, because you know how everything has to be approved from on high, but I don’t hate it. I’ll price out some plane tickets, just to know what we’re looking at, then I’ll talk to Dr. C by the end of the week.”

“Thank you sooooo much,” they all chime in unison, and it’s clearly been not only planned but also rehearsed, but it’s adorable nonetheless. 

“Yeah yeah,” she grumbles, but internally she’s a little warm and fuzzy, “now get back to class.”

“Not like we’re missing anything,” Abby snarks.

She pretends like she didn’t hear her. “I’ll see you at lunch.”

There’s a chorus of ‘bye’s and ‘love you’s and ‘see you then’s, and Abby turns to blow a kiss to the Captain America Funko-Pop on top of the file cabinet just before Wayne grabs her sleeve and yanks her forward with a death glare.

***

**_April 2019_ **

“Come _on_ ,” Jade whines. “What can it hurt?”

She sighs. “It won’t _hurt_ anything, but it won’t do any good either.”

“Okay, but we can at least try.”

Senior Week, and therefore the Thespian Society senior spring trip, is a little over a month away. After they’d gotten the trip to Boston approved, she’d started planning based on the suggestions Braylen had made in her classroom back in the fall. They’re going to see three professional shows in the evenings, visit Emerson College and the College of Fine Arts at Boston University and even go see Harvard, just because (that’s more for her than for them, but they all pretended to be excited about it, which she loves them for), participate in a workshop with a touring company, and go visit a couple youth theatre programs. That doesn’t really fill their whole one-week trip, but she doesn’t want to pack the schedule so much that it’s stressful and not fun, especially with such a small group of good, responsible kids. They’re not the type that you have to plan for every second for fear that a moment of downtime will result in mischief, so she figures they’ll just fill the rest of the time with good food and sightseeing. 

But now, they’re not even six weeks out, plane tickets and hotel rooms have been secured, final payments have been made, and planning is done - so she thought - and here they are ganging up on her. It’s not that what they’re suggesting is so awful. It’s not _bad_ at all, actually. It’s just ridiculous. And a little embarrassing. 

Abby hops down from the student desk she’s been sitting on top of and nearly stomps over to the filing cabinet. She grabs the Captain America toy standing guard there and comes to squat on the other side of Her desk until her head all but disappears. She holds the toy up until it clears the desktop then wiggles it side to side like a small child would do with a Barbie or other toy they are making ‘talk.’ _Excuse me, ma’am_ Abby starts in the most ridiculous deep voice she’s ever heard, _why don’t you want to see me when you come to Boston? I thought you were a fan of my movies. And my arms._

“Okay,” she reaches across the desk and snatches the toy from her student’s hands, “give me that.” Abby falls onto her butt giggling and pushes herself backward until they can see each other again over the desk. She sighs and looks at all of them in turn. “Look, I know you all mean well, but here’s the thing, first of all, Concord is quite a bit out of our way.”

“We’ve got some extra time, you said,” Lana says sweetly.

She smiles softly at her and continues. “Second of all, how much unhelpful attention do you think that program already gets due to its connection to him? And finally,” she sighs, “even if we did go there, there’s absolutely no reason to think we’d see him.”

“But his mom runs it,” Jade chimes in ‘helpfully.’ “And both of his sisters help put on shows, so it’s possible.”

“Guys -”

“Look,” Wayne says softly, “we know it’s a little silly, okay. We get that. But like you said, it won’t hurt anything to try. And can you really go to Boston and not be able to say that you at least made a decent, reasonable, non-stalkerish attempt to run into Chris Evans?” 

“I think non-stalkerish might be a stretch for what you’re suggesting.”

“Come on,” he prods, “just send one message, and if they don’t respond, or if they say no, we’ll all drop it. And if they do respond, we’ll go, and we’ll do the exact same thing there that we’re doing at the other two youth programs, and we won’t mention anything at all about Chris Evans unless someone else brings him up.”

She lets her eyes drift from him over each of the girls, and all of them, even Braylen, look hopeful and the tiniest bit expectant. Maybe she’s losing it, but she’s starting to buy into their argument that there’s nothing to lose. She closes her eyes and drops her head with a sigh, and someone, Lana she thinks, lets out a hushed little squeal. “One DM,” she says without looking up, “from the official theatre account to their official account. That’s it.”

There are screams and laughs and she thinks maybe even foot stomping and she wonders not for the first time with this group what on earth she’s allowed herself to get sucked into. “Now go,” she tells them, her head still hanging. “Lunch is almost over and I need to pee before sixth period starts.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“We love you.”

“Thank you so so so so much.”

“You’re the best.”

“Amazing.”

She doesn’t leave her desk until she knows they’re gone, and even then she still sees them congregated just at the end of the hall, trying to avoid going into the cafeteria in the three minutes or so remaining until the bell rings. She just shakes her head at their little huddle and thinks to herself that she can only imagine what they’re saying down there.

“Okay,” Wayne says to the girls, looking over their heads toward the classroom they’d just left, “So do we think she’ll probably message today?” The girls all nod. “Alright. So I’ll do tomorrow. Who wants Thursday?” They go around the circle like that, each picking a day to send their own message to the Concord Youth Theatre. After all, She’d said she was only sending one, but that doesn’t stop them from each sending their own, and the more messages that get sent asking if they can please come spend a day there observing the program, for educational purposes, of course, the more likely they are to actually get an invite.

***

**_April 2019_ **

“Whatcha lookin’ at?” Chris asks his little sister as he drops onto his mom’s couch next to her.

“The CYT Instagram account.”

“What’s goin’ on?” Chris knows less than nothing about Instagram and he’s happy to keep it that way. But his sister runs the account for the youth theatre program her and his older sister and their mom all work with, the same one they’d all been a part of when they were kids, and he can tell when he leans over and drops his head to her shoulder that there are a lot of messages there.

“We keep getting messages asking to come like, observe us?” She says it like a question, which makes him laugh, since she’s the one reading the messages. “Like, they want to come spend a few hours, a day maybe, just looking at our facility and our props and talking to participants and directors, maybe even watch a rehearsal.”

“Huh. Do any of them mention me?”

“Ladies and gentlemen, Chris’s ego has entered the room.” She shakes her shoulder a little bit to jostle his head.

“No,” he rolls his eyes, “like, do they seem like they’re trying to use you guys to get at me, somehow, or do they seem legit?”

“I mean, they’ve come from six different accounts, but they all say they’re from the same high school and I think one of them is actually the school theatre program account.”

“Okay, that sounds legit-ish. Are they from around here?”

She shakes her head. “Virginia. Apparently they’re taking some kind of spring trip to Boston. They’re going to see some shows, do a workshop in the city, tour some schools, and visit a few youth programs.”

He thinks for a second. It does sound pretty solid, on the surface, but there are a lot of unknowns there. He hates that he has to worry about things like who he is, what he does, making his family a target for scams, but he knows that’s their reality. He thinks for a minute longer and watches as she opens one of the messages, listening while she reads it aloud, confirming everything she’d just told him. “Why don’t you message back the school account and ask exactly where else they’re going. You can say it’s so you can figure out if you have a time that will fit into their itinerary, but you can reach out to some of the others and check up on their story.”

She turns and looks at him with a touch of awe on her face. “You’re a little bit devious, big brother.”

He shrugs. “Part of the territory.”

A few days later the two of them find themselves right back in the same position, just on their big sister’s couch instead of their mom’s. She’s once again on her phone, dealing with CYT business, and he thinks to ask her, “Hey, whatever came of that school visit deal?”

“Oh,” she sounds excited and she puts her phone down in her lap and turns toward him. “I did what you suggested, and it turns out it’s for real. I talked to somebody at one of the other youth programs that they’re going to, and to the program director of the touring company they’re doing the workshop with, who also knows someone in the College of Fine Arts at BU, and they all confirmed the story.”

“Cool. So did you message them back?”

She nods and hums. “Just the school account. And then the teacher asked if she could message me from her personal account instead. I guess a couple of the kids have the password for the school one, they post pictures and stuff when they’re working on a show, and she didn’t want them to be able to see our conversation.”

He chuckles at that. “Fair.” He’s about to turn his attention to his own phone when he realizes she’s kind of smirking at him. He rolls his eyes. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“My ass. What?”

“Nothing,” she says again and picks her phone back up. “Just wondering if you might want to come by when they’re there.” Her thumb flies over the screen.

“That feels very ill-advised,” he tells her. After all, isn’t that exactly what they were trying to avoid, the possibility of him being some sort of ulterior motive that puts the youth program in someone’s crosshairs? No, it’s not a good idea.

“Maybe not. I mean, the teacher seems super sweet, and sincere, really devoted to her job and her kids. And,” she taps something with her thumb and a picture of a woman, a few years younger than him, probably, brown hair, blue eyes, gorgeous smile, wearing a ridiculous costume of some sort (not like a theatre costume, more like something for a themed party) and flanked by a handful of teenagers in similar get-ups fills the screen, “she’s cute.”

He looks at the image for about a second too long, because when he finally shakes his head his sister is wearing this shit-eating grin that’s basically a family trait. “You’re insane,” he tells her anyway and picks up his phone to see a very crass (but very funny) text from Mackie. “Besides, final Avengers press starts in like a week. I doubt I’ll even be around when they come.” There. Bullet dodged.

***

**_May 2019_ **

“How was the reunion?” Chris’s big sister asks him as they’re carrying plates, cutlery, and napkins out to the patio, where her husband is grilling. God, he loves spring in New England, almost as much as he loves autumn in New England. 

Chris scoffs as he pushes the patio door carefully closed behind him with his foot. “I’m getting shit for wearing a name tag.”

“You wore a _name tag_?” She looks back over at her shoulder at him with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

“Unghhh,” he groans, dropping his head back to look up at the sky. “There was a table, and a girl whose name I didn’t remember then and don’t remember now, and she was handing out name tags. What was I going to do, look at her and say,” he puts on a heavily accented, fake, snooty voice and raises an eyebrow as he wobbles his head from side to side, “ _You all know who I am_?”

“I mean,” she shrugs, “you _are_ the star of what is currently in the process of becoming one of the biggest movies ever made.”

He knows she’s just giving him shit. His big sister would be the second person in line, right after his mom, to smack him across the head if he dared get a big head over his career successes. That doesn’t mean he’s not going to fight right back. “Yeah yeah, fuck off.” His eyes instantly grow wide and he scans the space around them to make sure none of her kids are in earshot, but they’re all way on the other side of the yard, piling on top of his little sister’s boyfriend in some convoluted game of tag or hide-and-seek or whatever exactly it is that they are doing. 

“Did you have fun, though?” she asks, ignoring his profanity.

He shrugs. “It was okay. I mean, I’m glad I went, it made other people happy and there were some moments of nostalgia, but really I’m still in touch with the people I wanted to stay in touch with. There were no big ‘wow’ moments, ya know?” She nods her head as she starts to set the long picnic table, and this is why he loves being here. It’s just a nod, but he knows that she just gets him, they all do. So when she changes the subject to his nephew’s first tee-ball game next week, he knows she’s not dismissing him, it’s just that she understands what he’s said, can empathize with his feelings, and knows he’d rather talk about something else. 

He doesn’t know what makes him think of it (ignores the fact that those blue eyes have popped into his head a couple dozen times over the past few weeks, that he’d seen Hemmy scrolling through Instagram one day in China and had asked him to go to the CYT account that his sister runs only to be disappointed when he found that there was no easy path from there to Her account), but in the middle of dinner he brings up the school visit to the youth theatre program. “Has that high school group been to CYT yet?” he asks his little sister, even though he’s nearly positive they haven’t. 

She shakes her head as she swallows down a bit of salad. “This week, actually,” she says. “Wednesday. I’m excited. I’ve never gotten to show off the program like this, it will be fun. Why?” Her eyes light up, “Did you change your mind about coming by?”

“You’re gonna do great,” is all he says as he rolls his eyes and shakes his head, but in the back of his mind he’s going over his schedule for the week.

***


	2. Chapter 2

**_May 2019_ **

It’s the mid-point of their trip, and she’s actually really thankful for the roughly half-hour drive out to Concord in their rental van. Boston has been amazing, truly, and she’s loved not only the things they’ve experienced but the fact that they’ve been able to do so much of it by foot. But right now, she’s really enjoying just sitting in the driver’s seat, having nothing to look at but trees, nothing to think about except keeping up with her phone’s GPS, and listening to her kids chatter away and sing along to pop music from one of their phones. Even though she hadn’t initially packed their itinerary, they’ve ended up filling every second, and almost all of it has been meaningful and thought-provoking. All that is wonderful and she’s grateful to have kids that have pushed for that type of experience, but she’s also grateful to have some time to mostly turn her brain off, give it a rest.

They pull into the parking lot and she checks and double-checks Google maps before turning off the car. She’d seen some performance pictures on the organization’s Instagram page, but she’d never seen any images of the exterior of the building, and she’s surprised. She knows it’s probably unfair to think this way, but she’d expected the theater that birthed Chris Evans, the one that most of his family is still heavily involved with, to be, well,  _ more _ .

“It’s small,” Abby announces loudly as they all pour out of the rental van. 

“I’ve seen worse,” Jade adds with a shrug.

" Hey guys,” She says looking over at all of them with a tilt of her head, a quirk of her brow, “first of all, standing in the parking lot isn’t the best place to make judgments. Second of all, we’re  _ guests  _ here and we’re not going to make judgments at all.”

Abby looks begrudgingly contrite and the others all nod. Lana loops a hand through Wayne’s arm and the two of them bounce on their toes, their look to her all but screaming  _ Can we PLEASE just go inside now?  _ She looks at her watch and pulls in a long, deep breath. “Okay, we’re a couple minutes early, but not bad. I guess we can head on inside.”

Here’s the thing. She’s trying so hard to be rational, level-headed. She’s the adult here, after all. If she’s not those things, no one is going to be. And the part of her that is managing to be those things knows that there’s a good chance Chris Evans hasn’t even set foot in this place in weeks or months, years, even. It also knows that even if he’d been there yesterday, it wouldn’t matter, because for one thing, that is  _ so  _ not the point of the trip, and for another, even if they ever did meet, by some crazy instance of happenstance, she would be just another fan that he would smile at, maybe even hug, if she was really lucky, and he would go on with his life probably not even remembering her the next day. But then there’s the other part of her, the part that hasn’t seemed to mature past the 14-year-old girl crying at her first NSYNC concert. That’s the part that’s screaming  _ ChrisEvansChrisEvansChrisEvans  _ on a loop in her head right now. That’s also the part that has her pulse racing and her hands trembling just a little and her breath all shallow. She can’t let that part win.

She holds out a hand in a gesture for the kids to go first. Abby takes off in the lead, of course, followed by Jade and Braylen then Wayne and Lana. She pulls up the rear, as she always does, her internal Type-A taking over and ensuring she can see everyone and count every head. The front door is propped open with a brick, so they walk on in. She’d been right about withholding judgment until they were inside, because the interior is definitely more impressive than the exterior, though still modest and simple. 

On the stage several yards ahead of them, beyond the sea of upholstered stadium-style seats, is a young woman (‘young woman’ - she’s probably her own age, but for some reason that’s the description that comes to mind) bent over a large storage tote. Her head pops up suddenly, dark hair flying, and she grins and waves when she sees the six of them. “Hi!” she calls out, impressive projection that just screams  _ theatre kid _ !

The kids all call back to her, waving and picking up their pace a little. She just smiles and lifts her hand. She’d prefer to wait until they’re out of shouting range. The kids reach the stage apron and she squats down, saying something to them that She can’t quite hear, and the next thing she knows they’re scrambling up onto the stage and heading straight for that tote. She watches them dig in and has to smile at their excitement.

She’s so busy watching them, in fact, that she startles a little when the other woman appears at her side. “Hi,” she says cheerfully, “I’m Shanna. We’ve been talking on Instagram.”

" Right!” She takes Shanna’s outstretched hand. “Nice to put a face to the account, I don’t think I ever actually knew who I was talking to.”

Shanna’s eyes go wide and her hands fly to her chest. “Oh my-you’re right, I never introduced myself or told you who I was! I am  _ so  _ sorry.”

" Oh my goodness, no! You’re totally fine. Really. I didn’t mean to imply anything, I’m just really bad at small talk.” They both laugh and some of the awkwardness dissolves. “Well, anyway, thank you again for this. I can’t tell you how excited they are to be here.” They both look toward the stage and, as if to prove it, the kids are dancing around, making silly faces and oversized gestures while wearing random costume pieces they’ve pulled out of the tote. She fights back a compulsion to assure Shanna that these are high school seniors, not overgrown elementary or middle school students. “Clearly.” They laugh again. “As I told you in our messages, our community, in-school and out of it, just isn’t very supportive of theatre, music, any kind of arts. Anything that doesn’t involve a ball or extreme physical contact, actually. One of the girls, Jade,” She gestures toward the corner of the stage where Jade is holding court, a long velvet cape tied around her shoulders and tiara on her head, “has done some community theatre in a larger town near us, but none of them have ever really gotten to see what a thriving, supported youth theatre program looks like or what it’s capable of.”

" Well, I mean,” Shanna shrugs a little, “we’re a little outdated in a lot of ways here,” her eyes scan the large room, “and sometimes it feels like we’ve outgrown what we’re working with, but it’s certainly not for lack of community support. In  _ fact _ ,” she leans over and lowers her voice, “you didn’t hear this from me, but we’re actually looking to expand into a larger, more modern space before long, hopefully this fall, thanks to one particularly supportive member of the community and the CYT family.” Her eyes sparkle as she says it and she looks like she might be enthusiastic about something more than just a new facility.

“That’s truly awesome. Seriously. It’s wonderful that you have that kind of support, not only for financial and material reasons, but because it helps the kids see that what they’re doing matters. That’s what I wish my kids had more of.”

" They have you!” Shanna counters cheerfully. “I’m only just meeting you, but I can tell from our conversations online and your posts and even just the fact that you do this for them that they’re getting a lot of support from you.”

She feels her cheeks heat slightly at the compliment and she gives her go-to response. “They’re great kids.”

Shanna just gives her a look, like she knows she’s deflecting somehow, and says, “Well, we’re glad you’re here. I thought about what you said in your messages that you guys were looking for and made kind of a loose agenda for the day. So, I know you said you’d love to see a rehearsal if possible. Today _ is _ a rehearsal day, but my sister is the director of our current show, and she’s also a high school teacher, so she won’t be here until later. And then my mom handles the more business-oriented side of things, programs, tickets, schedules, securing rights, things like that. She’s here now, but since my realm is hair, make-up,” she looks pointedly at the stage and grins, “costumes, I figured we’d start there. I mean, Mom can make just about anything interesting, but still, I thought it was best to start with something a little more hands-on.”

" Are you sure you’re not a teacher? You definitely think like one.”

“No,” Shanna laughs, “no. I’ll leave that to my big sister.”

She laughs along. “It is a very ‘oldest child’ profession.”

Shanna looks at her, curiosity clear on her face. “You?”

“Yep. One younger brother. And on the topic of family,” she casts an obvious glance around the space, “this really is a family affair for you guys, huh?”

" Oh yes, all my siblings and I,” Shanna looks over quickly like she’s trying to gauge just how much She knows about her siblings, her brothers in particular, probably, “all pretty much grew up here, and Mom has gotten more and more involved over the years. She runs the place now, and Carly and I have our hands in most everything. My brothers aren’t as physically available, so they aren’t as hands-on, but they help out in  _ other  _ ways.”

That must be really nice, She thinks, to have something so important that you get to share with your whole family. She’s about to say as much when she realizes the stage has gone quiet, almost scarily so. She looks up and the kids are all just staring at what seems like a point somewhere above her head. Wayne stands behind Lana with his hands on both of her shoulders while Abby grips both Braylen and Jade by their wrists and they’re all a little slack-jawed. She’s debating whether to ask Shanna if she knows what’s going on or just turn and look for herself, to avoid drawing Shanna’s attention to her ridiculous students, when there’s a commotion right next to her.

“What are you doing Little Sister?” a deep, too-familiar voice yells almost right in her ear. Shanna shrieks before She’s managed to turn fully in that direction and by the time She’s looking right at them Shanna is glaring, her fists pounding the shoulder of a very amused, very present, very  _ real _ Chris Evans.

“Don’t! Do! That! Jerk!” Shanna screams, a punch landing on her big brother’s shoulder with every word. 

She can’t move. Can’t speak. Isn’t even sure if she’s breathing, at this point. Shanna punches him one more time then huffs and turns toward the stage with her arms crossed over her chest. Chris is laughing so hard by this point that he can barely breathe, but slowly he starts to compose himself and, seemingly without realizing that everyone in the room except his baby sister is staring at him (or maybe he’s just so used to it that it doesn’t register anymore as anything out of the ordinary), he turns to Her and holds out his right hand. “Hi, Chris, world’s best big brother,” he introduces himself, bumping Shanna’s shoulder with his as he does, resulting in a hearty eye roll on her part. 

She holds out her hand and lets him take it, is pretty sure she manages to shake back properly, and thinks she might mumble out something that is similar to her name, though she can’t be sure on that part. If she’s making a complete fool of herself, though, he doesn’t let it show, just grins and gives her hand one last squeeze before turning toward the stage and asking, “And who do we have here?” Her brain seems to slowly return to working order as she introduces each of her kids.

“What are you doing here?” Shanna asks once all the introductions have been made and the kids are just talking amongst themselves on the stage, stealing glances at him every other second. 

Chris shrugs. “Nothing specific.” Shanna gives him a look that She can’t quite interpret, but figures they must have a million of those, between the four siblings. “I didn’t have anything going on and I thought it might be fun to drop by. I don’t want to get in the way or step on any toes or anything. I figured I’d hang out for a while, watch my three favorite ladies in action, maybe chat with the kids, answer a few questions,  _ if  _ that fits into the schedule you have planned.”

Shanna looks at him for a second longer, studying him, then puts her hands on her hips and says, “Well, you might want to make that two of your three favorite ladies, because you know Carly will kill you if you get in the way of her rehearsal, and if you’re still here, you’ll be in the way. But as far as hanging out until then, I don’t mind if she doesn’t.” She nods in Her direction.

“I,” she starts, flustered, “yeah, no, sure. Whatever you want sounds great.”

He grins at her, wide and pure and not at all like he thinks she’s an idiot. At least that makes one of them, she thinks to herself. He just claps his hands then rubs them together a couple times. “Awesome,” he says sincerely. “This is gonna be fun.”

“Why don’t you go ahead and talk to them a bit now,” Shanna suggests, “because from the looks of it you have their full attention anyway.” She cringes a little and hopes that Shanna doesn’t think the kids are being disrespectful to her by being so distracted by him. “Then I’ll take them back into the costume closet and the dressing rooms and do my thing. And if you’re still around they can talk to you a bit more after Mom talks to them, before Carly’s rehearsal.”

He nods and leans over to kiss the side of his sister’s head then turns to give Her a little smile, “I’ll be back in a few,” he tells her, as if he owes her something or she expects something from him, then heads toward the stage to talk up close with Her kids.

“I’m so sorry they’re so distracted,” she says to Shanna once he’s gone and she’s stopped staring. “I promise they have no idea they’re being disrespectful.” 

Shanna just waves her off. “If I got offended every time someone paid more attention to him than to me, I’d never be able to leave the house.” They both laugh. “I don’t think they’re being disrespectful at all. They’re just starstruck, and I can’t even blame them. Sure, he’s Captain America, but in my extremely biased opinion, he’s also just a really great person.”

“I believe that,” She tells Shanna as she watches him talk, hands flying, face animated and eyes shining, her kids hanging on every word.

They watch for a little while longer, maybe five minutes, then all the kids erupt into one big laugh before he turns in their direction and waves Shanna up. Shanna nods at him then turns to Her, “I brought that box of things out kind of as an appetizer, but I was going to take them back and really dig in. Do you want to come with us, or …” she trails off, leaving the question open-ended.

“I mean, if you’re comfortable with it, I think they’d rather I not come, let them have their moment in the sun without  _ mom  _ looking over their shoulders. But if you don’t want -”

“Please,” Shanna shakes her head, “there’s five of them and they seem pretty harmless, I think I can handle it. I’m sure you’ve been on high alert this whole trip, being responsible for five kids who aren’t your own in a city a thousand miles from home. Sit down, take a break. Hell, take a nap, for all I care. I know where to find you if I need you.”

A feeling of relief washes over her as Shanna outlines the stress she’d only scratched the surface of identifying in the car on the way there. She loves these kids as if they were her own (or at least what she imagines that might feel like, since she doesn’t actually have any of her own), but yeah, it’s a big responsibility she’s taking on here, and now that she’s being offered a break she realizes how much she really needs it. “Thank you,” she says quietly, and Shanna just winks.

She watches Shanna go, meeting up with her kids and then guiding them backstage, and drops into the nearest seat, one right on the aisle in the row she’d been standing next to. She draws in a deep breath then exhales slowly and lets her head fall back so that she’s staring blankly at the ceiling.

“May I?” Chris’s voice startles her so that she jumps a little and he’s grinning sheepishly when she blinks up at him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I just thought maybe I’d keep you company?”

Oh.  _ Oh _ . She doesn’t know what she thought he was going to do or where he was going to go, but it certainly hadn’t been to come  _ keep her company _ . Somewhere in the back of her mind she’d just assumed that he would head out now, or maybe go and find his mom in the office, talk to her for a while. “Um, yeah, sure,” she manages to get out, and god, if he knew she was an English teacher he would probably think terrible things about the state of public education in Virginia. She starts to push herself up but he drops a hand gently to her shoulder and she almost chokes on her tongue.

“Please, don’t get up,” he says, and his long legs are stepping over hers, and Christ on a cracker, she’s exactly eye level with America’s Ass. She thanks every deity she knows of, and then some, that the house lights are dimmed so that just maybe he won’t be able to see how hard she’s blushing.

Except that he can. See her blush, that is. He thinks it’s adorable. He hadn’t meant to put his ass right in her face, certainly hadn’t planned it, anyway, but he observes that pink tinge that disappears down into her top and sees the way she’s (probably unconsciously) biting her lower lip and she seems flustered, embarrassed maybe, but definitely not offended or put out. He drops none-too-gracefully into the seat next to her, stretches his legs out until they disappear under the seat in front of him, and says, “So, tell me about what you’ve got going on here.”

It takes a few minutes for her to stop feeling like she’s going to choke every time she opens her mouth, but it’s not too long before she’s actually carrying on a conversation with him. She chalks it up fully to how warm he is as he asks her about her kids and her job. And then, once she’s told him pretty much everything there is to tell about her school’s theatre program (or virtual lack of, since it’s really just her, a stage in a big room without permanent seats, a 50-year-old lighting system that works about half the time, and a sound system that often projects more feedback than dialogue or music) and the trip that’s brought them to Boston, and even the kids themselves, he starts asking about her. 

Without her realizing it, nearly two hours have passed and his body is turned toward hers as he tells her a story about his own high school theatre days, his right hand flying wildly through the air and his left curled around her forearm on the armrest, and she’s laughing so hard she’s nearly crying. He stops talking and sits back in his seat, his hand never leaving her arm, and she hears a muffled squeal and a throat being cleared loudly. They both turn toward the stage to see Shanna and Mrs. Evans, accompanied by Her five kids, Abby standing to one side with her arms crossed and her hip cocked to one side, eyebrow raised. Well, she knows where the throat clearing was coming from.

Neither of the Evans women seems to think anything about it, Shanna just smiling at her and Mrs. Evans jumping straight into giving her son a hard time. “So, were you going to say hello to your mother, or was I just supposed to hear about your visit from everyone else?”

“Hi Ma,” he says easily, the grin never leaving his face.

“Hi sweetheart. And hello to you,” she says, turning her attention to Her. “It’s so nice to have you here. Thank you so much for sharing these lovely humans with us.”

“Oh my goodness, no, thank  _ you _ . This means so much to all of us, really.”

“It’s been our pleasure, truly. And you, mister,” Chris raises an eyebrow, “if you’ve got anything else you want to say to these kiddos you should do it right now. Your sister won’t let you get away with taking up a second of her rehearsal time and they’ll all be here in about 10 minutes.”

He jumps up then and she can tell he’s trying to appear nonchalant, unbothered, but that he’s actually a little nervous at the thought of pissing off his big sister. She actually loves that, thinks it humanizes him. Not that the past two hours hadn’t already done that, the way he’d told embarrassing stories about himself, shown so much interest in everything she had to say, but it’s still hard for her to see him as anything other than untouchable. This helps, though, seeing him interact with his family.

He goes back to the stage and talks to the kids for a few more minutes and it appears to go just as well as it had the first time. Just before he backs away he says something that has them all looking up at her, eyes wide and, she thinks, hopeful. They smile and nod and he throws up a hand and they wave before turning their attention back to his mom and sister. 

Chris stuffs his hands in his pockets as he walks back toward her. He ducks his head and looks up at her through his lashes and she’s still just sitting there, waiting, with this sweet little smile on her face. He’d shown up on a whim, really. He hadn’t been lying when he told his sister he hadn’t had anything better to do and just decided to come by. But he’d done it with those eyes and that smile in the back of his mind. He couldn’t even tell you why, really, but he’d just needed to see if she was the person that one picture had made him think she might be. He knew better than to expect anything out of it, hell, maybe it was all an ego thing, maybe he just needed to see what would happen if he met someone like her outside of a Hollywood setting, and now that he was officially done as Captain America. But ultimately, he’d told himself he really had nothing to lose, and the kids would probably enjoy it, if nothing else, and so here he was.

And now, he’s really glad he came. Because the kids were fun, and talking to them had made him feel good, and talking to her had  _ really  _ made him feel good. Not in any kind of weird way, nothing sexual, she was just nice, and funny, and aside from seeming a bit starstruck at the beginning, she hadn’t treated him like anything other than just a guy who was willing to keep her company while her kids talked theatre with his mom and sister. And while he knows it’s ridiculous, and probably even a long shot, he really wants to have that again, at least one more time before she’s gone and he’s just a story for her to tell her friends over girls’ night drinks. Besides, according to what her kids had just said, she’s “perfect” for him, and while he knows they’re biased and looking out for her (in a way that, he guesses based on what little he’s learned about her in the past couple hours, would embarrass the ever loving shit out of her), and that they’re basing what he would want in a woman on things they’ve seen on the internet, he can’t deny that the things they’d just said, and the things he’d just learned on his own, do all sound like the kinds of things he tends to find himself attracted to. 

“Hey,” he says when he’s standing right next to her seat, “walk me out?”

“Uh,” she says, her eyes all big, “um, yeah, okay.”

He beams. “Awesome. I just wanted to ask you one thing before I go, but I need to get out of here before my big sister catches me and I get yelled at.” She stands up and he guides her out to the lobby then through his mom’s office and out into the side parking lot, the one that’s only ever used by members of his family and the small handful of other regular workers and volunteers. The only cars there now are his, Shanna’s, and their mom’s. 

“So,” he starts, their feet crunching over gravel as they walk toward his car, “the kids said you guys are seeing a show at Emerson on Friday?”

She nods.  _ That  _ had been a whole ordeal. The ‘show’ in question is  _ Kinky Boots _ , which had given her principal a heart attack based on name alone. In the end she’d ended up having to call the theatre and give them each kid’s parent’s name so that when each parent called to order their child’s ticket directly - one of the conditions the principal had put on them being allowed to go, so that she could claim it had been done by them and not arranged by the school - the ticket office would seat them all together. The employees at the theatre had been far more gracious and understanding than she had any right to expect them to be, but the whole thing had still been stupidly, unnecessarily stressful. The kids’ reactions when she told them she’d worked it out though, that had made it totally worth it.

“Yeah, we’ve seen two others already, one a smaller straight play and one at Boston University, but this is the one they’ve been really excited about, our ‘going out with a bang,’ so to speak, since we leave Saturday morning.”

“I was thinking,” Chris starts, leaning back against the driver’s side door of his car and resting the heels of his hands on the lower edge of the window, “maybe I’d tag along. If you don’t mind.”

Something clicks in her head. “Did you mention this to them, in there?” He bites his bottom lip and furrows his brow a little, his expression the definition of ‘sheepish.’ She just nods, at first, because that perfectly explains the way they’d all looked at her inside. But then she’s the one biting her lip, because, “We’ve already got our tickets all together, and,” his expression shifts, he looks down at where the toe of his sneaker scuffs through the gravel and then he looks up at her through his lashes and she feels silly, naive, “and you’re Chris Evans and something like not yet having a ticket with ours doesn’t really matter.”

He shrugs. “There are a few perks. But it only matters if you’re okay with it. If not, I’ll forget I even brought it up.”

“I mean, they would definitely really enjoy it.”

His foot slides, as much as anything can over gravel, until the toe of his sneaker just touches the toe of her ankle boot. “Would their teacher enjoy it?”

Her stomach flips and she knows there’s no way, out here in the mid-afternoon May sun, that he can miss her blush this time as it starts at her chest and blossoms outward. “I, yeah,” and then, because she doesn’t want him to think that she thinks too much of all this, “I’d enjoy having another adult there.” 

Her words aren’t the most promising thing he’s ever heard, but she still invites him to come along, and besides, there’s that blush again, so he thinks maybe she’s holding back. He doesn’t want to like, outright hit on her, but he does want to feel like she gets what he’s getting at. “Are you guys doing dinner before?” He pushes off his car so that he’s standing up straight, a little closer to her. 

She nods and his eyes track the movement when her tongue darts out to wet her lips. “We haven’t decided where yet. They want to do something kinda nice though, since it’s our last night and since we’re going to be all dressed up anyway.”

And  _ yes _ , he’s got it. “I can make a few suggestions. Could I get your number, text you?” He bites the inside of his cheek to avoid laughing at the way her eyes go wide as she nods and almost stutters out a  _ sure _ . He holds out a hand, palm up. “Can I have your phone? I’ll text myself, that way we’ll both have the other’s number.” Her eyes grow impossibly larger and she just stares at him for a second before patting all the pockets on her jeans and pulling the device out of one of the back ones. She opens it to a blank text message and hands it over and he looks at it for a second - not only does it appear to be much newer than his, it’s also an Android, something he has no experience with - before looking back up at her. “Actually, where’s the camera app?” She looks at him funny and he grins. “Contact photo.” She nods then exits out of the messaging app back to the home screen. And then she sucks in a breath. Because he’s looking at himself. Well, at Steve Rogers, technically, Mjolnir held high above his head and blue lightning radiating from his body and the word “WORTHY” running just along the top of the Google search bar. He doesn’t want to embarrass her more than she already is, but he steals a quick glance at her and her head is down as she navigates to the phone’s camera app, but the tip of her ear is as red as the rings on the broken shield he holds in the image. 

She doesn’t look up at him as she hands him the phone and he pretends to be trying to figure out how to work it while he waits for her embarrassment to ebb. When the skin he can see has returned to a shade somewhat resembling normal, he successfully switches the camera to selfie mode and holds it out in front of him. “Alright, c’mere,” he says once he’s got his own face taking up a little less than half the screen. He holds his other arm out and when she’s close enough he wraps it around her shoulders and pulls her into his side with his hand high on her arm. “Smile!” he says, and when she does his own turns a little more sincere, his mind changed at the last second in favor of sincerity rather than the silliness he almost went with. He snaps the picture, then another just in case it’s blurry or one of them blinked, then holds the phone back down in front of both of them. “Sweet. Now how do we text it to me?” It’s not lost on him that she does something through the camera app itself that allows her to attach the pictures to an empty text message rather than going back to the home screen and opening a message that way. He sends the message, waiting until he feels his own phone vibrate in his pocket to hand hers back. 

“Well then,” he says as he does, “I’ll text you some restaurant recommendations near the theatre, and I guess I’ll see you on Friday. Maybe I’ll join you guys for dinner too, if that’s okay?”

He thinks she’s gotten a little more comfortable with the idea, because he can see the little smile she holds back as she bites both lips between her teeth when she nods. He’s even more sure of it when she says, “I’d like that,” like she knows exactly what he wants to hear this time.

***


	3. Chapter 3

**_May 2019_ **

The restaurant Chris had recommended most highly as the one that would be ‘fancy’ to the kids but not too over-the-top and that would also give them a good feel for New England was within walking distance not only of the theatre but also of their hotel, which he had no way of knowing since she hadn’t actually told him where they were staying. It was a really nice stroke of coincidence, she figures.

He spots them before she spots him, which she figures, once she sees him, was probably intentional, based on the way he was tucked away almost behind a plant at the corner of the restaurant. (She doesn’t think he was hiding from _her_ , just that he was trying to be inconspicuous in general.) He meets them on the sidewalk a few yards from the door and he says hello to each of the kids first then turns his attention to her.

“You look great,” he tells her, reaching toward her with one arm and pulling her into a side hug when she steps closer. 

She looks down at herself, at the dress that’s more than something she would wear to school but not enough to be called formal, the long necklace that cascades off her collarbones and hangs delicately between her breasts and the bangles stacked on her left wrist, both complementing the statement ring on the middle finger of her right hand, and finally the same low-heeled ankle boots she’d been wearing the other day. “Yeah,” she says when she looks back up, blushing lightly, “I put in a little more effort this time.”

“No, you looked great the other day, too. This is just a different kind of great. As we’d say in my line of work, you’ve got great range.” He winks then and finds himself pleasantly surprised when not only does her blush not deepen, but her smile actually widens and she shimmies her shoulders a little when she thanks him. He’d gotten the feeling the other day that there was more under the surface, under the bit of star-struck awe, and while he definitely appreciates humility, he also appreciates a woman who can hold her own when the chips are down. The fact of the matter is, she does look great, did the other day, too, with her hair pulled back, in her light sweater and skinny jeans and those same boots she’s wearing now, and if she hadn’t accepted the compliment, that would have been a red flag of either false modesty or a seriously inaccurate image of herself.

He doesn’t realize he’s just kind of watching her until she clears her throat and says, “So, should we …,” with a gesture toward the restaurant’s entrance.

"Right, yeah,” he says, feeling a little dumb. “By all means, lead the way.”

She’d called in advance to let them know that they would be coming in with a party of seven, and the hostess apologizes profusely when she tells Her that they have a large party who has stayed much longer than expected and asks if a table for three and one for four might possibly work instead. Before She has a chance to respond at all, Chris jumps in with, “Make it five and two and you’ve got yourself a deal,” and a charming grin, and the hostess, who looks like she’s probably a college student, practically swoons on the spot. Lana looks a little disappointed when she finds out that they won’t all be sitting together, but Wayne loops his arm through hers and pulls her close to whisper something in her ear and Abby jumps in to assure everyone involved that the arrangement will be more than okay.

When the server comes to take their drink order, Chris orders a beer on draft and when the server leaves again he asks her, “Not a drinker?” as he nods at the water glass she’d told the server was enough for her.

"Oh, I am,” she answers before immediately dropping her forehead to her hand. “And that did _not_ make me sound good, did it?” He just laughs. “Let me try again. I really enjoy wine and am not incredibly picky as far as red or white, though I will politely decline anything remotely sweet. I like a lot of different beers, and I won’t generally turn down a decent vodka cocktail or martini. I will even, on occasion, sip a good bourbon.” His eyebrows lift and he nods like he’s impressed. She just shrugs. “I live in Virginia now, but I’m a Kentucky girl, born and bred. But, all that aside, it would be beyond unprofessional for me to have any of the above tonight.”

“Oh!” his eyes widen. “Shit! Should I not -” he turns and searches for the server, “I can tell him not to bring mine. I wasn’t even thinking.”

She reaches across the table to curl her hand over his forearm. “No no, please, don’t do that. By all means, have your beer.” He looks at her skeptically for a second and she reassures him, “Really. It’s okay. I’m sure that if any of their parents were here, they would have done the same. Hell, I walked into another student’s graduation party last year and Wayne’s mom was shoving a drink in my hand before I’d made it past the foyer. I just wasn’t officially on duty then, that’s all.”

“You’re sure?” he asks, and as she nods he turns forward in his chair and reaches to pat her hand with his free one. He leaves it there a second longer than necessary, until he sees her eyes dart down to it, but even as he pulls it away and she slides her hand off his arm, she doesn’t go far. “So, Kentucky?” he says, by way of keeping the conversation moving. She smiles and nods, humming a little. “Okay, I’m gonna say the thing I always hate when it’s said to me, but, you don’t have an accent.”

She laughs and it makes him smile wider. “Oh, I used to, trust me. I lost it when I went to college.”

“Ah. And that was …”

“William and Mary, in Williamsburg, Virginia.”

"Okay. And how’d that happen? Good teaching program, or …?”

She sighs and drops her head to look at the table as she plays with her cutlery. “Yes, but no. I did a stupid thing.” She looks up, rolling her eyes a little as she does, and he’s just looking back at her like he’s waiting for her to go on. “I followed a boy.” She shrugs, “He wasn’t at William and Mary, he was at Virginia Commonwealth, in Richmond, but they’re only about 45 minutes apart, which was far better in my mind than the nine-plus hours if I’d stayed in Kentucky, and I preferred William and Mary, for what I wanted out of my school.”

He pulls his hands back across the table and sits back in his chair, eventually dropping his hands to his thighs. “So, you said you did a stupid thing, are you two still …”

“No,” she laughs and shakes her head emphatically. “God no. That didn’t make it to Christmas of my freshman year.” He laughs with her. “But while I figured out I was most certainly _not_ in love with him, I had already fallen in love with my school, and with the whole area, really. So I stuck around.”

He studies her from across the table for a second then hums a little. “Okay, I have to contradict you on one thing.” She can only imagine the face she makes, because what exactly is there for him to contradict? Everything she’d just said was her lived experience, her emotions. She knows it must be bad, though, because he flinches and rushes to correct the situation. “Okay, no, bad choice of words. I was just going to point out, if you loved your school, and you loved the area so much that you’ve stayed there all this time, and you definitely seem to love what you do,” he turns to look over his shoulder at where her kids sit a few tables away, smiling when he turns back, “it seems unfair to yourself to say that you did a stupid thing.”

"Oh,” she smiles a little then and nods. “Yeah, that’s the way I look at it most of the time, as long as I’m not just having a really bad day or feeling particularly sorry for myself or something.” She laughs a little, just a quiet chuckle, really, and he smiles back, his eyes crinkling a little at the corners. “But most of the time when I tell people how I ended up where I am, I get eyerolls or judgy faces or even a lecture about how that’s not the right way to make such a big decision. So -”

He scoffs. “Fuck ’em.” He doesn’t mean to cut her off, but he’d thought she was finished and by the time he realized she wasn’t, he was already on a roll. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt, but seriously, fuck ’em.” She just kind of stares at him across the table, wide-eyed. “I mean, it’s your life, you’re happy and you didn’t hurt anyone, beyond maybe the typical break-up stuff that we all go through,” he doesn’t want to say more, because he doesn’t know the details of that situation and while he’ll gladly listen if she wants to talk about it, he’s not going to ask, “so who cares what they think?”

"Sooo,” she drawls, just a touch of good-natured scolding to her voice and her eyebrows raised, and smirks a little when he sits back in his chair looking just a tiny bit shameful, “I’ve found that coming in with a little self-deprecation right out the gate cuts their feet out from under them.” She chuckles again when he drops his head so that his chin hits his chest. “It’s kind of like saying, ‘I know what you’re going to think about this, so don’t bother lecturing me.’” He nods without lifting his head fully and she reaches across the table to where his hand is playing with his fork, flipping it over and over on the table, and rests just her fingertips on the back of his hand. “But thank you very much for saying that. It means a lot.”

He turns his hand over so that he can brush his fingers over the inside of her wrist and winks at her when he looks up. “Any time.”

Their server returns shortly after to take their order, and she lets Chris order for her. _Not because you’re a man_ , she tells him sternly, _but because you’re a local_. By the time their food comes, he’s leaning over the table as he talks to her and his legs are stretched long in front of him so that his feet frame hers on her side of the table. And later, by the time the kids are standing around their table and Abby is picking up what should have been a dessert fork to stab a piece of meat from Her lobster roll, they’ve got only a couple minutes to get on the move before they risk being late for the show. And she still has half her food on her plate. It turns out they were paying a little more attention to their conversation than to their dinners. She’s a little sad, because the food was great, but then again so was the conversation. (And maybe what she’s really sad about, which she won’t admit to herself just yet, is that leaving dinner means leaving the little bubble they seem to have constructed around themselves.) They shoo the kids away so they aren’t in the server’s way when he returns, and when he does, and asks if they’re going to be on one check or two, Chris just looks at her pointedly. She feels her cheeks burn a little, but she clears her throat and says as confidently as she can manage, “Two, please,” and Chris nods.

When the server is gone he smiles a little and says, “Right. Professionalism,” and she blushes a little more.

She manages to bring herself back down to earth a bit on the walk to the theatre, with the kids boisterous and excited around them and talking to Chris enough that the two of them can’t really have a conversation anymore. Seeing him with them, joyfully entertaining all of their questions - some more ridiculous than others - is a much-needed reminder that he’s just that kind of a person, that she shouldn’t think too much about the way he’d talked to her over dinner, the way he’d looked at her, the way he’d found reasons to touch her, then let his hand linger.

Chris can tell she’s distancing herself a little as they head to the show, and he gets it, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it. He _liked_ it when they were in the restaurant and she started to act like she was forgetting that her students were a few tables over, forgetting that he is who he is and therefore it’s not ‘supposed’ to be anything other than friendly. So, once they’re all settled in their seats, him on one end of their little crew with her to his left and then Abby to _her_ left and the rest of the kids beyond her, and the lights flash to alert them that the show is about to start, he leans over and says quietly, “Would it be _unprofessional_ if we were to share that armrest?” He watches her eyes drop to where her arm already sits on the armrest between them, where there is definitely not room for his, _unless_ …

Her eyes flick back up to his and she shakes her head, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth. Just as the house lights are going down and darkness settles around them, he lays his forearm carefully on top of hers, curling his hand around the side of hers to tuck his fingers into her palm and draw his thumb in a circle over the back of her hand. He’s pretty sure she’s holding her breath, at first, but once the music starts and the stage lights come on and he relaxes into his seat without moving his hand from hers, she exhales and relaxes too. 

By the time the Act I finale is drawing to a close, she’s gotten so comfortable with his hand wrapped around hers that when he starts to pull it away she unintentionally squeezes it tighter once before letting him go. He slips his hand away and as the lights come up she looks over out of the corner of her eye to see a little smirk on his face. She can’t dwell on that, though, because as soon as it might be considered remotely acceptable, the kids are up and buzzing, crowding around her and Chris and all talking over one another. “Guys!” she finally manages to get in between their overlapping chatter, “How about we wait and just talk about the whole thing after it’s over? We’ll have the whole walk back to the hotel _and_ an entire plane ride tomorrow, for that matter.”

“And I have to pee,” Jade blurts as soon as She’s finished.

“Yes,” she agrees, “you should _all_ go try to use the restroom.” She knows they’re not five, but sometimes she needs to talk to them like they are. And in this case, if she doesn’t tell them to go, they’ll all stand around talking the whole time then at least one of them will be squirming uncomfortably by halfway through the second act. 

They all nod and head off, still chattering excitedly, and once they’re far enough up the aisle to be out of earshot, Chris turns to her and says, “I actually need to step out too.”

She shakes her head teasingly and clicks her tongue. “You need to get yourself a teacher bladder,” she tells him.

He chuckles but shakes his head. “Probably true, but no. I need to call a business partner back, he’s called a few times.”

“Oh, okay. Well, I’ll see you when you get back, then.” 

As she watches him go, her mind starts to wander. Well, not wander so much as wonder. As in she _wonders_ what on earth she’s thinking, what she’s doing. Is she actually sitting there letting herself think something is going on between her and _Chris Evans_? No. She’s not. Because she knows better. Regardless of what her hormones and her nerve endings want to believe, her brain knows that this is just one night of flirting. And there’s no harm in that, as long as she doesn’t forget it, as long as she remembers that once the show is over, so is whatever this is. As long as she keeps all that in mind, she’s fine and no one will get hurt. Including her.

Keeping that in mind gets a little harder, though, when the house lights flash and he’s still not back. She knows she has no right to be upset, that he didn’t promise her anything and certainly doesn’t owe her anything, didn’t have to do any of this at all, actually. But her stomach still sinks a little at the thought that he just disappeared on her. 

Outside, Mark’s still talking and Chris is getting antsy, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. As far as he’s concerned, they’ve said everything that needs to be said for now. Mark proposed some dates for another round of interviews in D.C. for a few weeks from now, he agreed, everything else can be ironed out later, in his opinion. Because he’s just in front of the theatre and he can see that the lobby is almost empty and there’s no more line at either of the restrooms he can see and he needs to get back inside before they turn out the lights and close the doors. Finally, Mark says _So does all that sound good?_ and Chris nearly yells, “Yeah man, sounds awesome. Just shoot me an email with the details and I’m on it. But hey, I gotta go right now, I can give you a call tomorrow though.” He catches an _Okay_ and it sounds like there’s probably more after it, but he hangs up before he can hear any of it.

He nods at a couple employees in the lobby whose eyes light up when he throws the door open and almost runs back inside, and the usher is just stepping up to the door into the house when he steps through it, the lights already out. He forces himself to slow his pace as he walks down the aisle toward their seats in order to avoid drawing attention and by the time he gets to his empty seat he’s calmed himself enough to try to turn the charm back on.

The first notes of the opening song are playing when she feels him drop into the seat next to her. “I’m so sorry,” he stage-whispers huskily into her ear, and when she feels his breath wash warmly over her neck and her cheek, smelling faintly of the mint gum he'd chewed on the walk from dinner, and feels his hand curl around her elbow in order to slide up the inside of her forearm before he presses his palm to hers and threads their fingers together, her stomach clenches. (Other things clench, too, but she doesn’t allow herself to acknowledge that.)

She’s pretty sure she misses a good 50% of the second act, her brain completely occupied with the repetition of her internal mantra of _One fun night of flirting_ and the way his thumb draws circles over the back of hers after he pulls their hands over onto his lap to rest on his knee _._ And during bows, when he squeezes her hand twice before moving it from his lap back to the armrest and letting go again, she has to resist the urge to hold on tighter. When it’s all over, they wait for the rows in front of them to clear so they won’t be blocking anyone then they all stand and he rests his hand on the small of her back to lead her out into the aisle. They step aside to let the kids out so they can walk in the back of the pack, and he never stops touching her, even as they follow the kids out of the building. 

Outside in the slightly cooler night air, the kids are all goofing around and taking silly pictures of each other as they stand to the side and watch, and his hand slides across her back to curl around her hip, where he applies pressure, urging her to come closer. She does, and he leans down until his nose just brushes her hair and he says, “I know it’s a long shot, but is there any chance a goodnight kiss follows those professionalism rules you’re so worried about?” He hopes she can hear how much he wants this, but also that she knows his question is an invitation for her to say no for any reason she may want to (as much as he hopes she doesn’t want to). As he looks down at her he sees the goosebumps pop up over her arms, sees how heavily her chest rises and falls, and he’s not sure she won’t say no, but he’s pretty sure she doesn’t want to.

She blinks up at him, and never in her life has the gulf between what she _should_ do and what she _wants_ to do been so big. This is literally a moment she’s dreamt about, one she’s conjured up in her imagination when her brain runs away from her. But, she can’t. She knows that. She’s not on a date, she’s _working_. Her kids are just a handful of feet away and she’s responsible for them until their parents meet them at the airport tomorrow afternoon. She’s already probably gone farther than she should have. It doesn’t matter what she wants right now. She does her best to smile, even as small as she knows it must be, when she tells him, “I’ve been tap dancing on the line to ‘unprofessional’ all night, I’m pretty sure a kiss would shatter it into a million pieces.”

He nods, and while he doesn’t look _upset_ , exactly, he does look disappointed. “Right.”

“I’m sorry, I-”

“No, no,” he cuts her off, shaking his head and rubbing little circles on her side with his fingers, “you have no reason to apologize. Like I said, I knew it was a long shot. I shouldn’t have even asked, shouldn’t have put you in that position.”

She’s about to say something else, tell him he didn’t do anything wrong, when she hears Abby. “Hey, marquee selfie?” the teen yells much louder than necessary, considering her four friends are already clustered right around her. When She looks in their direction Abby is looking her right in the eye even as she points to a spot farther down the sidewalk. They move that way and position themselves for the picture, clustered together with their backs to the theatre entrance - and to her and Chris. Abby gets down on the ground so she can angle the camera upward to get all of them and the marquee in the shot (without possibly being able to get Her or Chris in it, She notices), but before she lifts the phone to frame the picture she looks Her way again and holds up her first two fingers to her eyes then points them at Her. The irony of the situation is that rather than telling her that she’s watching, as the gesture is typically used to denote, she’s telling her that no one will be watching her for the next minute or two.

She thinks for less than a second, because she knows that any more and she’ll lose her nerve. She turns toward Chris and his hand never leaves her side so that by the time she’s facing him, toe-to-toe and chest-to-chest, his arm is wrapped around her waist. Her hands come up, resting flat on either side of his ribs, and she pushes up onto her toes, her eyes fluttering closed as she goes. She worries, just momentarily, that he’s going to have changed his mind in the seconds since she said no, or even that she’s going to miss her target, but then she hears him let out a surprised little _Oh_ just as his hand tightens on her waist, pulling her closer. His lips press softly, carefully to hers, and his other hand comes up to rest over hers on his ribs. There’s no tongue, and their lips barely even part, just enough to allow them to share one another’s air, but the way they move over one another, like a whisper, quiet and gentle and a secret just between them, has her trying to catch her breath when she lowers back down onto her heels.

“What happened to professionalism?” he asks as he pulls back, his hands still holding onto her.

She shrugs. “What’s the worst that can happen, they fire me? I can always get a new job, that’s the only chance I’m ever going to have to do that.” And no, she’s not actually that flippant about her job; she’d be devastated, actually, if she was forced to leave her job and her kids. But she also knows that even if one of the kids did see them, and even if they did report it to the administration, she wouldn’t get fired, just strongly reprimanded. And while she wasn’t ready to take that risk a minute or so ago, the way Abby had jumped in to make it so that all of the above are almost impossible had swayed her.

His eyes flick up from hers, over her head, then he asks her quietly, “Says who?” Before she can answer, he leans down to press his lips to hers again. It may actually be even more brief than the first time, but it steals her breath away anyway. He looks over her head again then squeezes her hand under his on his ribs before sliding the other one across her back and letting her go completely, stuffing both hands into his pockets as he takes one small step backward. “So there’s two, who says we can’t make it three?” She’s ready to protest, he can tell, so he goes on quickly. “I’ve got your number, you’ve got mine, and it looks like I’m going to be in D.C. in a few weeks, right after Memorial Day. I know that’s not exactly your part of Virginia, but if you’re willing to make a three hour or so drive -”

“Yes. Absolutely.” She jumps in way more quickly than she would like. If she’d had any chance, at this point, of seeming cool, hard-to-get, she’d just blown it. Well. He’s already kissed her. Twice. She figures that seeming excited to see him again can’t be the worst thing in the world.

He grins, and it looks a tiny bit cocky, but mostly happy. “Alright then,” he nods once, “it’s a date.”

Her stomach does somersaults inside her body and her smile threatens to split her face. She hears the kids behind her, noisily coming closer, and takes a step back to put a little more space between them. “I don’t know if you need to go right away, or if you’d maybe want to walk with us back to the hotel?”

She thinks she hears him groan low in his throat. “I’d love to do that, but,” he looks past her yet again, at the kids, she knows now, and slides his foot forward until he can lift the toe of his dress shoe and drop it onto hers, “I’m not sure it’s a good idea. I’m not sure how long I can keep making good choices. It might be best to call it a night here and wait for that actual date.” She nods. She’s disappointed, she’d have loved another 15 minutes or so of him at her side, but she gets it. Like him, she’s not sure she’d behave herself as much as she needs to with the kids right there. “I’ll text you though, yeah?” She nods again. “Soon,” he winks, and the next thing she knows, she’s surrounded by teenagers. 

They all say goodbye and the kids thank him profusely for coming, making her proud with their manners. He excuses himself to go back to his car, and as he’s passing her to walk back in the direction of the restaurant he reaches out to hook his fingers around hers for just a second. As they start to move in the opposite direction, the kids pair off, as always, but instead of Abby leading the pack, she hangs back to walk with Her. 

“Did you enjoy the show?” Abby asks.

“I did.”

Abby hums. “Did you enjoy the company?”

Her cheeks flare with heat. “I did.”

“I think he did too,” Abby hooks her hand over the crook of Her elbow and bumps their shoulders together. “In fact, I think … I think your phone’s buzzing.”

“What?”

“Your phone, in your purse,” Abby hip-checks Her, bumping her hip against the purse hanging across her body, between the two of them. 

“Oh, I’ll look at it later.”

“Or you could look at it now,” Abby prods her a few times with her elbow.

She rolls her eyes. “Fine.” She pulls out her phone and feels a chill run down her spine when she sees his name in the notification window. She looks over at Abby out of the corner of her eye, and the girl is pretending to stare straight ahead. She opens the text and bites her lip as she reads, unable to stop smiling. _Looking forward to being unprofessional in a few weeks. Call me tomorrow, if you want._

“I better get an invitation.”

She jumps at the sound of Abby’s voice and presses the phone to her chest. “What?” His text wasn’t exactly lewd, by any means, but could definitely be considered innuendo if taken out of context (actually, even with the context she has, it still feels a little risque, not that she minds) and she’s not thrilled at the thought that Abby might have read it.

“To the wedding. I better get an invitation.”

“Oh,” she rolls her eyes and scoffs, “you’re ridiculous.” Even as she says it though, she’s thinking _It gets to that point, I’ll make you maid of honor._

**Author's Note:**

> This series wouldn't exits without "Not Okay." That story ignited a creative spark in me that made me want to do more with this character and this world. Still, I wouldn't have if it hadn't been for the incredible kindness in the response to that one, so thank you so, so much.
> 
> I'm not abandoning "Starting Over," this is just another baby that will be getting a share of my attention.


End file.
